Good Job, Mrs Robinson
by Oregano
Summary: Rory whirls around, shocked to see him so up-close. And personal. A Barbara Streisand comment is made, which breaks the eighteen-foot wall of ice between them. Literati.
1. Rory'd Better Appreciate This

**Chapter One**

**Rory**

You'd think that I would be more happy being alone, finally.  No scary Paris, no Chilton, and no high-school drama.

But then I came to Yale and realized that there were certain things to replace others.  Like even scarier-life-coachee Paris, Yale, and worse, university drama.

I had always been the loner, and I had always enjoyed that.  Mainly because my mom was there each time I cam home.  So I guess I wasn't _really a loner.  Just… antisocial to some respects._

But now, here in Yale, knowing nobody when I really want to know somebody, was, to be frank, getting me pissed.

So I'd sit on benches, much like today, and study, frowning, angry at the world around me.  Rory Gilmore is turning Emo, and that's not a happy place for her or anyone else.

"YOU ALL GOT THAT?!"

A few heads turned to look at me, obviously taking in the fact that I was, indeed, off my pants.  I sighed when I realized that nobody really caught the Emo comment, since, you know, I said it in my psychotic head…

I lowered my raised fist; a fist I hadn't realized was being waved, and buried my face back into my book.

"Hey freshman, can you move your books?"

I continued to read, knowing that I was not being addressed by the cranky owner of the cranky voice.

"Freshman, you deaf?"

Then I heard a small growl of frustration and the next thing I know, my books were dropped in front of my face and onto my lap with a thud.

I looked up to see a rather angry-looking guy with his hands on his hips and his evil eyes on my forehead.

"I-I'm sorry," I stammered, pushing my books away and onto the ground, making room for him to sit.  And just like that, the rambling button was pushed.

"I'm new here, and I didn't know you were talking to me, 'cause, you know, no-one ever does, for some weird reason.  I'm not gross or anything, just antisocial."

Evil Eyes just sighed and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket.

Suddenly I saw Jess Mariano's head superimposed on his smoking body.  Not like, sizzling hot body, but verbally speaking, because he was, erm… smoking.  Like the verb.  And like Jess.

"You freshmen are always so uptight.  Lemme guess; you were valedictorian of your class, weren't you?"  His lazy eyes shifted from the butt of his cigarette to my flushed face.

"Um, yeah, I was."

"And all the little boys were running after you all the time, eh?"

"Are you Canadian, by any chance?"

"And then you come to Yale, expecting the same old crap, but you realize that Yale's nothing like high school.  Classes are hard and all the boys hate your guts."

I froze.  There _was a certain lack of romance in my life, all of a sudden…_

But even if all he said was true, as a person, I was awfully offended.  I fixed him with my Die-Jerk glare (one I was supposed to give Jess, but he left before I got to deliver it) and slammed my book shut.

"Look, _Bud (God, I was turning into Paris), I don't know why you just said all those things in that mean way, but I don't like it.  And really, I don't think anyone would.  I'm new here, I'm having trouble socially, so what?  So, I'd appreciate it if you just shut up because you don't even know my name.  Now, if you'd excuse me, I'd like to read my book in peace, without your scathing tone and emphysema-ed breath getting in between the words."_

I whipped my head back and opened my book.  Truthfully, I had lost the page long ago, but I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of seeing me all flustered.

"Lorelai Gilmore, right?"

I could have fallen off the bench if I wasn't clinging to the armrests so hard.  Jesus, Yale bred stalkers, _along with snobs?!_

"How do you know that?" I asked cautiously.

"Relax, lady.  Your grandpa knows my dad.  Family connections and all that jazz," he said with a gesture with his wrist and a drag at his smoke.

"Joe," he said simply.  No last name, no, "Hey there, I'm…"

**Jess**

I bit my lip as I looked out the grimy bus window.  Geez, the institution could spare a few doll hairs for transportation cleanliness, couldn't they?  

Oh, wait.  Bus transportation was outside Yale's budget bill.  That's right.

I was thinking of the Stars Hollow School Bus and the disgusting crap I found each field trip to the town loonies.  I realized then that Yale was completely different from Stars Hollow, from funds to location to system.  Plus the fact that one's a university, and the other is a town (of roughly the same size, give or take a few students).

One thing, however, still remained invariable:  Rory Gilmore's residential status within in each of them.  One then, one now.

Man, the wonders of college.

And I thought I was pretty smart.  Guess I was still stuck in time where everything was going somewhere besides Venice Beach.  I gathered my skateboard, affectionately, yet secretly named Bertha, and backpack and stood up.

I ventured a brave step off the bus and into a world I then knew I would never be able to enter (unless I take senior year again and hell if that's going to happen), missed by a few steps and fell face-first into the asphalt.

"You okay, kid?" the bus driver yelled from his seat.

Through the mangling pain coursing though my body, it was a wonder how I ever managed a thumbs-up sign to him behind me.  All the while having my lips kissing sweet government-paved road.

And with that, the doors squealed shut and the bus left me right in front of Yale University, kneeling over Bertha, whose trucks were stabbing straight into my armpit.

Rory'd better appreciate this.


	2. Someone Sent Me

**Chapter Two**

**Jess**

Walking around Yale, rubbing my nose, forehead, cheeks and chin, was surprisingly, not that bad.  The campus was ridiculously clean.  Although my praise had may very well be a result of me living in complete and utter crap for the last eighteen years, so I toned my approval down a notch or two.  Students were littered everywhere, most of them reading or studying (God, is this New Haven, or Nerd Haven?  Ha-ha, I crack myself up.  Too bad it's just me who'd laugh, though.  Sigh.), some yakking on about politics and Chinese space development's effects on the economy.

I shuddered at the picture of myself laughing like a high-class socialite, drinking champagne, wearing a Mr. Roger's (poor man) cardigan, scoffing at the futile attempts of a third-world country to be like America.  Cue haughty laugh.  And proceed with a lawnmower coming down from above, shaving my head into a Mohawk.

I set Bertha down with a thud on the ground, smirking as she made that lovely clacking sound as wood touched cement.  At least I could do something to barricade myself from going down that path.  Even if I have to break my eighty-dollar Premium deck in two to do it.

Smooth cement, I noticed, as I tested the waters (/ground) with my foot, rolling Bertha back and forth slowly.  If Yale wasn't so full of people, I'd be so bold as to say, it'd make a good skate park.  Some graffiti and coarse language, and Bob Burnquist would feel so at home…

Just as I was about to heave off, I saw her.  She was sitting on a bench, next to a James Dean dud ('cause we all know I'm the only one who can get that down pat), frowning.

First thing to come to mind: Jesus Christ, what happened to her hair?

It was short and girly and… not Rory.  She looked like a freaking Sandy!

Hang on.  What the hell was I saying, again?  It seems as though—I'm not entirely sure—that I just called Rory Gilmore, one of the coolest girls I know, a freaking Sandy.

But she looked like she was twelve!

Well, she kind of acted twelve, when she was feeling obnoxious… (You could just see me scratching my hair in reminiscence, couldn't you?)

But still!

God, I couldn't believe this.  I just had an inner monologue about Rory Gilmore's hairstyle.  I really was going insane.  But I still maintained that it was because of that particular girl, dammit!  I pointed an imaginary finger at Rory, like a little kid screaming, "He started it!"

She turned her head slightly and without thinking, I pushed with my foot quickly and skated towards the other direction, like a bunny on speed.

I didn't think she'd appreciate me just showing up here with no game plan.  (And no place to stay, for that matter.)  Rory Gilmore was a woman of planning.  Believe me; I lived through the worst of it.  You should have seen her during final exams week.  She had a chart and everything.

But I guess that's what made me like her so much.

So, anyhow, back to the topic before I went all mascot-for-raging-hormones.  Rory Gilmore was a woman of planning.  I needed to think about my approach and the possible scenarios of her taking the fact that I lived no more than a few feet away.  That is, if I got a decent apartment a few feet away from Yale.

Also, with me living no more than a few feet away, hypothetically, with no high school diploma, yet still hanging out in a Goddamn university… well, you could kind of see the problem, right?

I needed to bullshit (pardon my Spanish) my way around a few things for a while, and I'll tell you, Rory Gilmore could be quite an adversary when it came to manufacturing cow poo.  She'd be all, "Yeah, okay," but when you looked at her face, she _knew you'd just lied to her.  And then she'd tell her mom, and Lorelai, with her brute strength (really, that lad could be quite manly, when it came to her kid), would just barge into your uncle's apartment with a baseball bat, ready to play ball with your head.  Or other parts more precious to a fine young man like myself._

I know, I know, "God Jess, stop lying to Rory and be a maaaan!"  Whatever.  I'll ask _you_; what would _you say, when you're in my place, when Rory goes, "Why are you here?" without sounding like a total spaz?_

Saw my point?  Well, I'd hoped you had.  Because I hated explaining myself as much as having inner dialogues about someone's hair change.

I rolled my eyes.  And just as I was about to cross my arms in front of me, I hit a post.  I didn't smack into anything, thank God, or my handsome face would have been ruined twice already.  I reached out to steady myself, hoping not a lot of people saw that.  (Again, I blame Rory Gilmore.)  As I made contact with the post, my fingers closed around a piece of paper.

_Wanted: Male Roommate.  Eighteen or above.  Can stand smoking and late nights with the TV on.  Look for Ma-Huen.  (phone number)_

Perfect.  No matter if I couldn't even pronounce his name.  He had a place for me, and that had gotta count for something.

**Rory**

"So—," I screwed my mouth as I tried to go about saying this without sounding presumptuous.

Joe didn't move a muscle from his comfortable, slouched-I'm-cool-look-at-me-smoke position, save for his eyes, which shifted slowly towards me.

"Um, what are you doing here?"

"Studying, in general.  Fine Arts," he twisted his mouth (just like Jess), "Psychology.  Economics.  Journalism.  I can go on, if you want."

"So I'm sitting beside a guy who hasn't made up his mind about his life?"

Joe nodded smugly, "Five years and counting."

I shook my head in disbelief.  Five years and still nothing?  Good thing I got _my future all planned out.  Well, I took a sideways glance at him; I didn't really plan on going to Yale, though…_

"But that's not what I meant.  I mean, what are you doing _here_?  Like, taking up space beside me, talking to me right now, in the present tense?"  My book was long forgotten.

Screw phonics—I made a friend—woo!

"Someone sent me."

Oooh, interesting.  I felt so Sean Connery.  I shifted my eyes from left to right, just like a spy would when meeting his informant.  (I'm turning into Paris _and my mother.  Great.)_

I leaned closer and whispered conspiringly, "Who?"

Joe, unfortunately, didn't get the skit and pulled away from me, his eyebrow raised, his face doubtful of my sanity.  He clamped the cigarette between his lips and just looked at me like that for a full thirty seconds.

So much for New Friend.  I picked up my book again and flipped towards my page.

"Okay, sorry, forget it," I mumbled.  Stupid Yale.  Stupid Joe.

"Well, to answer that, I'd say a lot of people.  Your grandparents, your mother, your dad, Sherry—,"

I made a weird face at the mention of her name, remembering the horrid times spent together, from baby shower to baby _having_.

"—and this friend of mine.  I think you knew—sorry, know—him.  Tristan DuGrey?"

Oh, Jesus Mary and Joseph.  I felt like I was on a psychotic Yale-Upper Crust-themed Friendster network.

**Note-a-doodle-doo:**

Wow, it's been a while since I've done one of these.  Lordy. -- got that from Britney Spears; hihi!  Anyhoo, a very big thank you for all you all who were gracious enough to review and tell me how you feel about me starting a new project—hopefully, it doesn't turn out as horrible and long and dragging and tedious as _Nobody Said_, or I'll scream.  To Edward's Muse, thank you very much for your advice, and I did try to stay in character.  I want you to know that I tried, man!  Hahah.  Anyhow, since I'm a shameless old cow:

PLUGS!

If you want feedback, desperate for long, detailed (to some extent) reviews on your fan fiction piece.  It's the first of it's kind, I tell ya!  Well, as far as I know…

Just 'cause.


	3. Bummer

**Chapter Three**

**Rory**

"Tristan DuGrey?" I asked, rather surprised to hear his name mentioned again.  I thought he'd be one of those names that sort of vanished once you graduate high school.

But hey, this was Tristan we're talking about.  The Supreme Being who believed that no rules could or would ever have to apply to any part of his wealthy stature.

"You deaf?"  Joe asked the same question earlier, but this time I felt a little friendliness seep through the smart retort.  I started to grin.

And promptly cleared my throat, reminding myself that this wasn't Connecticut anymore.  These people were _hardcore_.  Manly grunt.

"How do you know so many people I know?"

He merely shrugged, "It's the way the world works, friend."

"Well, how come I haven't even met you through my grandmother… or," I squinted my eye, "Sherry?"

"Lorelai, I've spent five years and a considerable amount of money in a university that bred doctors and lawyers since the dawn of time.  My parents aren't exactly… jumping at the chance to introduce me to young ladies of promise in their social circles, you know?"

I shoved my chin out at the thought.  "I can't imagine you in a dinner party or a formal at all."

"Exactly."  He gave me a wicked smile as I understood his words.

My heart sank when I suddenly remembered how Jess used to smile like that when he was still, you know… normal.  Joe saw the change in my expression and looked at me dubiously (the third time in ten minutes).

"What?  You look like the poster girl for Valium."

I sighed, further supporting his comment, "You got a girlfriend, Joe?"

He pursed his lips, "Yes.  Yes, I do, sorry to break your heart."

I glared at his arrogance, yet ventured on with my diatribe.  "Well, imagine your girlfriend without… anything."

"You mean like clothes on?" he asked coyly.

Grabbing my sweater tighter around myself, I rolled my eyes.  Joe was certainly a part of Tristan's crowd.

"No, _Jeem_.  I meant, without…," I shrugged, "Motivation.  Hope.  A future."

"Without promise?" he suggested in an eager tone which I didn't appreciate.

"Yeah.  But at the same time, you _know he could have done so much more and things could have been… nicer."_

Then I realized that I had just said some pretty personal things.  To a stranger.  To someone my grandmother sent.  To a pervert.

I put my hands on my face, embarrassed.

"Um, forget that I said anything, Joe.  Sorry about that," I quickly offered, gathering my books into my bag and getting up.

"Did he die or something?" Joe asked suddenly, making my head jolt upwards to face him.

"Well, no, but…," I thought for a moment, "I guess, kind of."  I know it was a terrible thing to say, but that's what it felt like to me at that moment.  Jess just… up and went, without warning, without returning.

He frowned and raised an eyebrow, "Bummer."

I let out a short breath, a start of a controlled laugh, a sound usually emitted by a person when surprised with an amusing thing.  Joe was starting to warm up, to my surprise, and I appreciated it so much more than to put in words.

He was being my friend.  Like, a dozen people kind of forced him to me, but… he was being my friend.

And I needed that now more than ever.

"Hey, Joe?"

He stubbed his cigarette on the bench armrest, blowing the ashes slowly to the ground, completely ignoring me.  Talk about ADD…

"Can you call me Rory?"

"Why?  Is it some sort of sick pet name you enjoy being called?  Like Sex Kitten or Mom?"

I didn't know how to react to his humour, yet, but I found it refreshing and, God help me, even witty.  I gave him a goofy smile and scratched my head absently.

In return, he nodded with a smirk, "Rory it is."

My hand was clutching the straps of my bag, but I had this strange notion of wanting to stay.  It was like I was stuck in that moment, me frozen in indecision, him waiting calmly for the result.

What the hey.

I dropped my bag and sat next to him again.  He went, "Psh," and crossed his arms in front of him.

"So, what's going on with Tristan nowadays?"

"He's fine; I guess… he hasn't been writing much—the bastard.  I think he's coming home soon, though."

I leaned back and thought of the prospect of seeing Tristan DuGrey again.

Hopefully he'd grown out of his annoying, childish ways.

"Last I heard, he's got the kids groveling at his feet."

Maybe not.

**Jess**

Climbing up the stairs, I kind of felt very, well, I'd like to say Dustin Hoffman with the cranky landlord to his room, but to be honest, Audrey Hepburn with that tall Spanish man to her party, actually.  

It didn't help that he was wearing a Madonna tee and a blue feather boa, either.

"So you new here?" Roberto asked me as he led me up to Ma-Huen's apartment.  His ass was doing that swish-swish thing that only gay guys could pull off.  In my face, nonetheless, as he climbed a few steps more than me.

"Pretty much."

I wasn't homophobic or anything.  I lived in New York, for God's sake.  But I wasn't Conan O'Brien, either.  Conversational aspects of socialization were, sadly, not my forte.  Revolt and annoying I can do, but not friendly-to-all.

"What courses are you taking, Jess?"

"A little bit of everything, actually."

Roberto chuckled, a rich, very gay laugh.  "Still finding your way around the world, huh?"

"That's right.  What floor is this apartment?"

The place wasn't dingy, but it wasn't the Ritz Carlton, either.  It was an old-fashioned building, and obviously restored quite regularly.  At least there weren't any rats running around having babies on my foot or anything.

"We're almost there."

We finally reached the stupid floor and I dropped my bag with a thud on the ground, tired.  Roberto smiled at me apologetically and knocked on the door daintily.

"Ma-Huen, someone's here for you!"

"Who?" a muffled voice came from inside.  I heard some shuffling and the door slowly opened.  Out popped the face of Ma-Huen, eyes like little chinks on a wall, face sour like a lemon.

"Jess," I simply put, leaving the processing to him.  It took him a while, but he got there.

His eyebrows jumped and he nodded vigorously, "Oh, yeah, new roommate, that's right."

"I'll leave you two boys alone," Roberto said excitedly as he exited, clutching the end of his boa and waving it at us.

He opened the front door wider to let me in, and when I got in there, I sighed at the irony.  Remember when I mentioned Audrey Hepburn and tall Spanish guy?

Well, apparently, I was going to live with Mickey Rooney.

**Author's Note:**

Hey guys.  Wow, this baby's doing good, eh?  Thanks again for all your support and the constructive criticism as well.  I do believe Jess _is a "skater," but I could be wrong.  I got the idea from the publicity photos from Luminary, with him in Venice Beach, skating towards God knows where… I'm sorry if that causes some sort of problem to anyone (scratched head)._

I know I kind of lost Jess for a moment back there, probably a "Consider This" nostalgia moment, you know.  Haha.

And really, dude, I'm on my knees here.  None Of That Emo Crap's not going to well and we'd appreciate some submissions.  We'll be cool, we promise!

emo.blah-mah-gah.net


	4. He's Kind Of Good Looking

**Chapter Four**

**Jess**

Ma-Huen had gone to work a few hours ago, leaving me to myself.  I didn't ask what he did for a living, nor did I want to know, really.  He stayed out of my business as well, which I appreciated heavily.  Last night was just spent in comfortable, sluggish silence in front of the television, watching reruns of _AstroBoy_, drinking beer.  No questions.  Well, there was that introduction thing, just to make sure I wasn't an axe murderer and he wasn't some rapist with a kink for New Yorkers, but other than that, nothing.

And I liked it.

I opened the door and stepped outside, ready to explore and conquer Yale and the immediate radius around it.  I was on a mission.  I didn't exactly know what, but I came to New Haven for it.

I liked this Ma-Huen dude.  He left me alone.  Unlike every other person I've met (even Roberto, for God's sake).  He didn't want me to open up to him just because we were going to live together for a while.  He didn't keep checking on me and asking me how I was.  He didn't try to control how things were going with me, even though it had nothing to do with him.  He had his life, I had mine.

I left Stars Hollow to get to know my father, but the decision quickly went sour with regret.

God, it's almost been a week, yet I was still thinking about Jimmy and that awkward, "I want to be your dad—for real" thing of his.  He was trying to be a good father, I was aware of that.  But it was screamingly obvious that it was more out of guilt that love.  He didn't say it aloud, but I felt it in his countenance.  It was squirmy, nervous.  Dads didn't look at their shoes and wring their hands each time you talked to them.

We should have gotten used to being together for that long, but some things just didn't work out.

Before I knew it, I had reached the golden gates of Yale.  God dammit.  It was like I had this stupid magnetic radar for Rory Gilmore.  I sneered at the campus and all it represented.  Futures, doctors, degrees, bachelors of God knows what.  University.  Failure.

God, I hated Yale.

However despite myself, I walked in, hands in pockets, bitterness at hand.

A little strolling around and I found her.  She was sitting under that damned tree again, talking to the same guy yesterday.

Then I felt something tug at my chest.  Excuse me, body, but is that… _jealousy_ you're creating within me?  Puh.

I walked over to their spot, careful not to be seen, and sat down at the other bench perpendicular to Rory's (who knew math terms would apply to real life?).  And just as my back hit the cold wood, the dud stood up.  He was going to class.

Sometimes, life was just like a TV show, and everything was so convenient.  I loved it when that happened.

They said their goodbyes and I took note of the fact that neither of them made any affectionate contact.  Who _was this guy?_

And he was off.  Finally.

Through the corner of my eye, I saw Rory lean back and sigh.  She took a book out and started to read.

My heart was palpitating, my eyesight dizzying.  God, only this girl could make me want to throw up at the sight of her.  Not because she was particularly ugly, mind you, but it was just so… aggravating to be around her.  Add some terrible things done in the past and an unanswered phone call or, you know, seventeen, and I was ready to spit out my kidney.

I took a deep breath and, "He's kind of good-looking."

Her head shot up at the sound of my voice and she whipped her head around to face me.  I kept staring straight ahead, ignoring her.

"Jess."

She said it so breathlessly that for a minute there, I forgot that she hated me.  I heard her drop her book to the ground.

I tried my best, but couldn't help it anymore.  Slowly, I turned my head to look at her.  I looked at her through my lashes, knowing full well the effect that it would bring to her.

She took a deep breath and her eyebrows furrowed slightly.  I saw her lips tremble.  She had lost weight since I saw her last.

I had this all planned out.  I thought this through so much I had to take Ma-Huen's medicinal tea.  Things were going exactly as they played in my head.

Only I forgot to factor in what I myself would be feeling at this particular moment.

At the way she looked at me, my chest collapsed with bittersweet pain.  I wanted to get up and put my arms around her, but that's not what was supposed to happen.  No.

No.

I restrained myself and offered her a smirk.

"You left."

"I'm aware, Rory."

"You didn't say anything at all."

"I didn't want to."

"The bus—,"

I looked away at that.  That stupid bus.  It was like I was meant to lie to her one last time before I could leave and make her forget about me.

"I missed you."

We both said it at the exact same time.  At that, I raised my eyes to sheepishly meet hers.  Okay, so that part wasn't part of the plan.  But I was always a man of improvisation.  I could be on velvet chairs next to Ryan Stiles.  But I'm no comedian.  I'm an improviser, but not a funny one.

She gave me a smile.  A true, genuine smile, and picked her book up from the ground.

I stood up as she shoved it into her bag.  That was enough contact for the day.  I just wanted to establish my presence, and throw the relationship-ball in Rory's court.  It was her move next.

"Jess, wait!"

That was a quick move she made right there.  I was stuck.

Now what, Gregg Proops?

**Rory**

He looked at me with lazy eyes.  Not scary Columbo-falling-off-the-face lazy eyes, but that relaxed look which masked everything I wanted to see in him.

"Dirty!" a mom-voice spoke in my head.  

Oh, man.  He was waiting for the continuation of that plea.

Now what, you Turret-Syndrome riddled freak?

"W-why are you leaving so soon?"

He smirked at me again, making my head rattle.  "Do you want me to stay?"

He said it to bait me and I saw that there he was again; the Jess Mariano I was familiar with.  No family problems, no wall of secrecy, no trust issues.  A million memories flew by me, leaving a soft smile on my face.

Memories like the basket-bidding (Dean was pretty mad, but Jess was, I hated to admit it then, actually more fun to be with at that particular moment in our relationship), the first time we met (and the night later, where I realized he wasn't as stupid as he seemed), and more insistently, the times where he'd hug me so tight I could barely breathe or when he'd put his arm around me and cover my face from the sun or the snow, whichever was bothering me that day.

The power of suggestion, so much more potent that day, it seemed, had its effect on Jess as I saw a faint smile grace his features, immediately softening his attitude towards me even more.

"What's on your mind?" he asked gently, just a hint of curiosity hidden behind the question.

I looked at my hands, half-covered by my sweater.  "I was just replaying this old thing in my head; remember when we were talking about Yale and," I laughed a bit, "you knew exactly where and how far away it was?"

I saw his grin widen, and I continued.  "And then you put your arm around me and you kissed my head."

"Your head?"

I nodded, remembering it so vividly.  But apparently, from his last question, he didn't.

"I don't blame you for leaving."

It came out so suddenly, I had to slap my palm over my mouth.  In reply, he looked at me with a confused expression.

He took a minute to let it seep in.  I knew he had been used to this jumping of topics, thanks to almost three years of me and my mother, but I guess the break from us made him lose his edge.

"Who do you blame, then?" he asked softly.

I shifted my eyes nervously.  "If—," I started, but faltered.

He stepped closer, "If what?"

"If I hadn't been such a weirdo... maybe I could have done something… to help or something.  If I wasn't so wrapped up with my thing and my world, maybe things would have been… maybe you could have…"

"What?" his prodding was gentle, but it didn't change the fact that he was prodding.

I looked straight into his eyes then, filled with the want for him to understand how sorry I was.  I wanted him to see how much he meant to me.

"Maybe I could have made you trust me more."

**Author's Note:**

This chapter is for Samantha, you wonderful, wonderful gehl.  She's been so supportive of me and the projects I spit out, and I want to let you know that I love you for that.


	5. Paris, You're Insane

**Chapter Five**

**Rory**

It took a football hitting me on the hip to break the awkward silence that feel upon us after that stupid confession.  I was livid from the pain of the football going 300 kilometers per hour striking my bones, as well as from the way Jess looked at me.

I instantaneously crumpled to the bench, still clinging to my books.

"Ya-aah!" I let out this girly squeal at the surprise.  Who the hell played football in Yale anyway?  Go transfer to Michigan State, you jocks!  This is nerd territory, for God's sake—didn't you read the pamphlet?!

Jess simply shoved his hands in his pockets and smirked down at me.  I knew I'd get no sympathy from this guy.  Really.  Jess Mariano was a man of no heart.

I hate you, Jess Mariano—you broke my hip!

"Get up.  I want to see your dorm room."

Flabbergasted!  Here I was, tending to a bruise the size of the Philippine archipelago, and he wanted to see my _residential area?!  I glared at him, wishing his hair would catch fire._

"What, you want me to carry you or something?" he asked, a pail of sarcasm sloshed over his offer.

"Puh—_no_."  I pursed my lips and got up, wincing at the pain.  But Jess Mariano, Boy Evil, was apparently enjoying my pain.  With a huff, I swung my bag around and hit my hip again.

"Nye-haaa!"

His face was starting to betray laughter.  Amusement had already done its traitorous deed on his expression.  I took pride that I was one of the chosen few to make him laugh, but remorse as I realized that it was usually at my health's expense.

"Suck it up, Gilmore.  It's just a bump."

"It's not a measly bump; it's a road hump!"

He sighed at me, his eyes saying, "Oh, Rory, what would you ever do without a big, strapping young lad like me by your bruised side?" and grabbed my bag and books.

"Oh, quit whining, you little frump."

Aghast!  I looked at him, my eyes wide, and my mouth agape.

He merely gave me this look of… something—it was a patented Jess-look, it was, but indescribable all the same—and walked ahead of me.

***

"JESS!  GIVE ME A HUG!" Paris screamed as she ran full speed at Jess.  I saw Terrance sitting on the couch, a proud smile on his latest project's progress.

She suddenly stopped when she saw Jess's squinted glare.

"Oh, you're right—I don't need to hug you.  You're okay with me being anti-social and scary."  She crossed her arms in front of her and glared back at Jess.

"I'm not giving you a hug, Paris."

"Dammit, Mariano, it's for my personal growth!"

"Then stay stunted and blame it on the coffee," he replied with ease.

I took offense, "Hey!"  I drink coffee and I'm perfectly well-proportioned to my height, thank you very much.

"Oh, great, now you've hurt Rory's feelings.  Way to go, Jess," Paris seethed.  All because of a hug.

"Still not hugging you, Paris."

Jess smirked at her as he put my stuff down on the ottoman.  Paris frowned at him, her hands curled into fists.  "Jess Mariano, if you don't give me a platonic-yet-meaningful hug right now, I will seriously—,"

"Paris," Terrance called gently from the couch, forgotten but satisfied with being the fly in the wall of the conversation.  Until now.

"He wouldn't hug me.  You saw that it's clearly his fault, right, Rory?"

I put my hands up in defense, "Hey, hey, just the amused spectator with the popcorn over here."

"Paris, come here," Terrance firmly beckoned.  She turned and I could have sworn she hissed at Jess.  However, looking at him, he didn't seem to mind, if he even heard it at all.

"Do you know what you did wrong in that confrontation?"

God, I hated Terrance.  With a passion.  I hated the way he spoke to people.  He talked to you in that condescending tone which made you want to smack him upside in the head.

I suddenly felt Jess's presence beside me.  "What's Mr. Clean doing to our unstable acquaintance, anyway?" he asked as Paris dissected her whole approach to Jess in front of Terrance.

"He's her life coach."

Jess didn't even miss a beat.  He raised an eyebrow, "And here some say Harpo Studios is lagging behind."

"She has a crafts corner."

He raised his palm to his face, "So that's what that sparkly thing on the doorknob was.  Actually, in all honestly, I preferred Paris anti-social and scary."

The admission made Terrance and Paris turn to face him.  "What did you say?" they both said in unison and disbelief.

**Jess**

God, Paris was still the same.  I don't know why I did, but I found her personality amusing.  She's got these quirks, and once you push a button, she goes and does something weird.  She's like a toy.  Or one of those Japanese pencil cases with all the compartments and buttons to push.

And not only am I an improviser, I'm a button-pusher, too.

Then the Terrance guy started looking at me funny.  Like a plan was forming in his head.  Hm.  Not good.

"You know, Rory, for a student that applied for financial aid, you're living quite the good life," I said as I scanned the room, fully-furnished.

"It's from my grandmother," she said woefully.

"It's an evil plot to establish control over the suite!" Paris yelled from the couch.  A shush from Terrance and she was quiet.

"I'd be glad to take these out of your hands, if all this sparkling wealth's such a big hassle for you.  God knows Ma-Huen needs a new TV."

"Ma-Huen?"

I was still looking around, "My roommate."  I felt like I was in Emily Gilmore's place all over again.  Or in Circuit City.  I didn't even know how to work half of these things.  I didn't realize Rory was looking at me the whole time.  "A maid's not gonna come out of the fireplace holding out canapés, is there?"

"Try chimney sweep," Paris interjected bitterly.  I gave her a small smirk.  Paris was cool.  Well, not now, with her life coach watching her every move, but it's not like talking to a blow-up doll from China.  Or speaking in Model UN sessions.  

Okay, so maybe sometimes.

"Roommate?" Rory repeated in a disbelieving tone.

"That's what I said."

"_Roommate_?"

"Don't hurt yourself."

Rory scratched her arm nervously, "So you've moved back into Connecticut?"

Oh, I see.  Damn, my super-duper plan was starting to evolve so much it didn't look like its original father anymore.  My plan was pulling a Luke Skywalker, and Darth's not happy about that.

"Well, I saw the brochure and the kids and I just couldn't resist."

"W-why would you do that?"  There she was, going all breathless on me again.

I shrugged.  "Just felt like a change."

Paris tried to enter the conversation once again.  "Those drug dealers got to you, huh?"

"Paris, you do know I'm from New York, right?"

She played with the hem of her shirt, "As your political ideals and priorities may suggest."

"So you know perfectly well that drugs dealers aren't really as big to me as landing on Mars is to NASA?"

"I was trying to make polite conversation," she said primly.

"With drug dealers the only subject to choose from?"

"Terrance said that the topics I often discussed were too intellectual for most people, and is the main reason for their distance."

I looked at this Terrance guy.  He was nodding to the words that came out of Paris's mouth.

"Paris, you're insane."

She moved to get up, and most likely ram me to the ground, but Terrance held her arm back.

**Author's Notados:**

I got something very special planned for this.  It's a bit slow, I apologize, but it'll pick up after a while—I promise.

Thank you again to all the lovely people who have reviewed, your comments help so much.  

And yes, Samantha, I _was_ talking about you.


	6. What The Hell IS This?

Chapter Six Jess 

I exited the dorm room with a final smirk at Rory and a small nod to Paris.  I didn't even want to look at that Terrance guy, the way he was staring at me.

"I guess I'll see you ladies around."

***

I reached my own apartment that night, my head pounding and my whole body restless even after that long walk/job hunt.  Maybe I was thinking about this too much.  I turned the key and stepped inside, retreating to my room (almost hitting a Japanese lantern and stepping on a paper fan—damn Ma-Huen and his fine arts theme/homegrown-back-to-my-Asian-roots tendencies!) and falling onto my bed with a knocked-out thud.

Just as I was about to nod off, I heard a sharp knock on the door.  I emitted a brutal groan and lamely sat up to open the door.  Ma-Huen always forgets his damned keys—maybe that's why his roommate left; because he became the doorman for Ma-Huen and got sick of it.

"Go out with me."

The question didn't even faze me.  For the most part.  Okay, I'll admit I was pretty surprised, since, you know, I knew she had a boyfriend.

"How'd you find me, Paris?"

"I followed you," she said, her voice just cracking mildly, "Will you go out with me?"

I leaned on the doorframe with my arms crossed, "How many laws have you broken since you were fifteen?  And I distinctly remember Rory mentioning a Princeton guy in the Paris-major-motion-talkie."

She rudely shoved me aside and entered the apartment.  "So you're saying if Jaime wasn't my boyfriend, you'd go out with me?"

Oh, Jesus.

"No."

She stamped her foot on the ground, clearly annoyed.  "For God's sake, Mariano, will you stop confusing me?  My inhibitions are lowered enough for me to stab you with this paper... crane... thingus—what the hell _is_ this?!"

Paris grabbed one of Ma-Huen's pieces and examined it closely, turning it in her hand.  She suddenly realised that she was here for a different reason, one that didn't include art critisism.

"Why do you want to go out with me, Paris?"

"Because I like you, and I've had quite a lot to drink.  Actually, you remind me of Dustin Hoffman right about now."

I hate talking to drunk people.

"You don't like me, Paris.  You never did.  Remember Austen?  You were ready to beat me up for my lack of feminism."

"And who are you to tell me who I do and do not like, huh?"  She pointed at me menacingly with the paper crane thing, "And Emily Bronte _is_ one of the good guys!"

"I said Austen, not Bronte."

She looked at me as if I was stupid, "I said Bronte."

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose in silent annoyance.  Just as I was about to speak again, I found Paris just inches away from me.  Her faces suddenly furrowed and her eyes glazed over with tears.  She collapsed into me and cried.

"Please, Jess," she sobbed.

I wasn't about to give her an answer because I knew we'd both regret it once she'd sober up.  Her weight soon became too much for my body (which was aching with fatigue) and we both fell to the floor.

She didn't seem to care, though.

She wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands and looked at me.  Paris, the one indestructible machine I had once met, was now far, far away.

I didn't know who initiated it, and I'd shoot myself in the foot if I ever found out it was me, but our lips touched, and that was that.  Her tears fell onto my fingers as I touched her chin and her cheek and I felt myself wanting to cry as well.  I somehow understood Paris's sadness, even if she wouldn't tell me, and God help me, I wanted to help her.

Nobody was ever there for her.  She was constantly surrounded by estranged figures and/or stupid people.  Nobody cared if she lived up to her potential or not because they thought she could do everything on her own.

Well she can't do it alone, okay?  She needs people.  Real people, not people like Madeline or Louise or Lorelai or Jimmy.  

I need real people with real care and concern, God dammit!

I mean, Paris does.  Paris.

Rory 

So Jess is here.  Long term.  Did he do this... for me?

I inwardly slapped myself for thinking that way.  Jess Mariano wasn't some puppy who followed me around, but I think thoughts that suggest that.  I'm so screwed up.

Maybe he's just looking for a job in the area.

To be with me.

Shut up, head!

He's furthering his educational horizons in order to fulfill his lost inhibitions as a learned man.

Oh, God, I'm using big words—now I know I'm lying to myself.

Why was he here?

And where in pudding's name was Paris?  The movie was getting cold!

I curled up into the couch and hugged a pillow.  The door then opened and Joe stuck his head in.

"Hello?"

"Joe?  What's up?" I got up and put the pillow down.  I've always hated that question, "What's up?"  It was so stupid and made no sense.  Some slang was just stupid, if you asked me.

Joe smiled at me and lifted a bag of chips into my field of vision.

"Welcome to movie-night, mister!"

I shoved some crap off the sofa and made room for my new movie-buddy—seeing as Paris wasn't about to come crashing through the door with a hundred-word apology in hand.

**Author's Note:**

Hey kids!  I'm back.  Well, for the mean time.  Heh.  So how was everyone's vaccations?  Fun fun fun?

Don't kill me just yet, Literatis—I haven't gotten to the good stuff.


	7. Joe From Yale

**Chapter Seven**

**Rory**

Friday-night dinners could turn into kind of a chore, especially to my mother and her thirty-year rebellion, but this week I was rather looking forward to asking Grandma more stuff about Joe.

Not that I was particularly interested.

Okay, so I was interested, what with all the secrecy and mysterious knowledge of 50% of my life.

But I wasn't quite about ready to turn into Paris, with the restraining orders from four different Chilton teachers.

Once we were seated, with the exception of Grandpa, who had to fly to Rome for a business trip, I slowly pushed the Joe ball forward.

"Hey, Grandma?"

She looked up from her chicken Caesar (she was just about to throw a Wendy's comment at the maid) and turned her attention to me, "Yes, Rory."

"Do you, perchance, know a boy named Joe from Yale?"

"Joe from Yale?" she repeated.  She pursed her lips and looked at the candles (I think it helped her concentrate), deep in thought.

And then my mother quipped up, "Yeah, Bob from Harvard called, he was wondering if you knew Joe from Yale's number because he throws the best parties and he wanted to throw one for Jim from UCLA because he just got engaged to Betty from Princeton--,"

Grandma, now used to the sarcasm, flew right through it and ignored my mom, "Oh, Jordan Bancroft, you mean?"

"I'm not sure.  Maybe that's him."

Grandma suddenly leaned forward, "Is he treating you well?  I had totally forgotten that he was still in Yale.  Or actually, studying at all, for that matter."

My poor mother, out of the Yale loop (to the joy of my grandmother), jumped in to make sense of things.  And what better question to ask, in the midst of confusion, than, "Who's Jordan Bancroft?"

"Oh, he's just this guy from Yale."

"I think that's established."

"And he said Grandma sent him and he knew all these people—he knew Sherri."

Right then, my mother flinched in her seat.  "Are you okay?" I asked.

She shook her head and gave me a small wave, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine.  It was just that 'mutual-friends-with-my-mother' thing biting me in the ass.  Nasty little bug."

Again, the Emily shield was up and deflected the joke to the floor.  "He told you _I sent him?" she asked incredulously._

I got worried at that part, "Didn't you?"

"And let him influence you into candy-flipping until you overdose?  I think not!"

We heard rummaging and suddenly saw that my mother was desperately searching for something in her purse.

"Lorelai, what in God's name are you looking for in that bag?  And in the middle of dinner!  It's terribly rude!"

My mom spoke into her purse, "Dammit, where did I leave that tape recorder?  My mother just said, 'candy-flipping' and 'overdose' in the same sentence!  I may never have another chance to hear this again after I go skiing in hell tomorrow morning!"

Grandma gave a huge huff of annoyance at my mother's behaviour.  "Lorelai, I'm sure HBO would love to sign you up for a new show to replace _Sex and the City at this very moment, but I'd like to remind you that I am neither that company nor the least bit amused.  Jordan Bancroft just lied to Rory, for God's sake!"_

"Mom, relax, will you?  He was probably just trying to meet her; I lie to boys all the time."

Grandma slapped the table in my defense, "But this is Rory!"

"I've lied to her, too," she replied, with a small nod towards my direction.

"Hey!" I said, defensively.

My mother squinted at me, "Rory?  What did I say about defensiveness?"

I lowered my head, "That it's the root of economic instability and the cause of the Michael Jackson case…"

My grandmother sighed, "Ugh, the two of you are _so calm about this.  In my day, if a boy had lied to me, I would have broken ties with him immediately!"_

The night went more or less like that, but with an insane amount of banter between Mom and Grandma afterwards, which went from the salad to the fruit platter.

I was left to sort this new information about Joe and his fictional orders from my grandmother quietly in my head.  

What was that boy up to?

**Jess**

I went up the stairs towards my apartment, safely dodging Roberto from pulling me into his party (I wasn't in the mood).  As I got to the front door, I saw Paris sitting on the welcome mat.

Her head was bowed and she looked like she was sleeping.

I nudged her with my foot, "Hey."

When Paris realized that it was me, she jumped up.  "Hey, Jess."

Good, she was sober now.  Last night, after that weird kiss, she had passed out in my arms, so I carried her to my room and put her on the bed.  I then proceeded to lie on the floor to prepare for a restless night's sleep, thanks to the earlier events and the hard-wood surface.

The next day, she had disappeared and I hadn't seen her since.  Well, until now, obviously.  She looked at her feet and crossed her arms.

"I've been hesitant to come back, Jess, because it was kind of a shock to wake up remembering nothing; me, on your bed and you on the floor, you know?" she started.

"You don't remember anything about last night?"

"I can tell you now, I was Syndey Bristow and you were… passed out on the floor without your shirt on!"

"Don't quite get the connection in there, but I'm sure it's just due to my own ignorance of the new millennium pop culture."  I gave her a rather rude smirk and proceeded to open the door with my key.

"I have a favour to ask of you…" she started again.

Oh, God.

"No."

Her mouth was agape.  "You haven't even heard it yet!"

I looked at her square in the eye, "We are not going out.  I don't like you that way, and I'm pretty sure you don't, either."

She dwelled on the shock of me already knowing what she came here for, for a small second.  But then, "See?  That's what's so perfect!"

I leaned on the door and tilted my head, "Paris, whatever you're up to, I don't want to be a part of it.  Go down a floor, there's a guy named Roberto, he can hook you up."

I was just about to close the door in her face when, "I'll give you three hundred bucks."

Jesus, that was rent, food _and_ spending money.  I opened the door a crack and gave her a suspicious glare.  She returned me with a conspiratory smile.

**Author's note:**

That last chapter didn't get much feedback, eh?  That bad?  Anyhoo, I hope this gets more of a look.  

Thank you, though, to artsgirl15 and iminlovewithaboynamedJESS (that's a hella long name).  I appreciate you guys for your reviews.


	8. Why Do You Care?

**Chapter Eight**

**Jess**

This was ridiculous.  Here I was, a perfectly sensible person, sitting down in the living room with Paris Gellar as she exposed to me her evil plot.  And I was actually listening.  

Apparently, the only reason Paris wanted me around was that she and her boyfriend were having some kind of argument and she was trying to prove something by making him jealous.

"As far as Terrance knows, we're broken up, and I need a confidante of some sort to get me through it.  He's actually the one who suggested that I approach you," she looked at her hands on her lap, "because you said you were fine with me being me."

God, for a life coach, this guy isn't doing a very good job; encouraging someone like Paris for rebounding and revenge?  Jesus.  I crossed my arms and looked at her carefully, "I am.  But why not just try another, saner plan and consider Rory for the role?"

She flapped her hand at me and snorted, "With her new boy toy, you think she'll have time to do this?"

My heart collapsed, but I tried my best not to flinch when the word "boy toy" reached my auditory organs.  I shifted my gaze towards the blank television and nonchalantly reaffirmed what Paris had informed.

"Rory's got a boyfriend?"

She wrinkled her nose in thought and after a bit, "Well, not exactly, but I think there's something going on, or about to go on.  She and the guy are getting pretty close.  Personally, I think the guy's too good-looking to be trustworthy.  But hey, I didn't like you at first, either, but look where we are now—thick as thieves."

I rolled my eyes and then started to frown but checked the action.  So what if Rory didn't care for me anymore?  It's not like I still like her either.  Psh.  But as I thought these thoughts, a line ran instantly through my mind:

"I think I may have loved you, but--,"

But nothing.  She's moved on, a little fast for my liking, but I'm not going to stop her.  She's not my little dog to control.

I hadn't noticed Paris staring at me until she cleared her throat, jarring me from my thoughts.  "So, are you willing to do this thing for me?  I kind of need an answer ASAP because Jaime's arriving tomorrow afternoon."

"How sweet," I said flatly.

Paris smacked her fist on the table, "I'll crush him like a bug."

God, memo to self: Never be Paris's boyfriend.

Oh, wait, scratch that—just never piss Paris off.

***

Well, this was a start of a new (and utterly ludicrous) existence for me.  I am now about to be Jess Mariano, bogus boyfriend extraordinaire.  Almost.

I walked up their suite door the morning after and knocked.  I waited a few seconds but was not gratified an entrance, and waiting some time longer proved that I wasn't about to be any time soon.  I was about to walk away in silent annoyance but stopped when I heard the door unlock behind me.

It was Rory who stuck her head out to see who it was.  It was, of course, me with a limp wave and a hand in my pocket.  She seemed startled for a moment, but gathered herself immediately.

"Hey, Jess," she greeted with a twinge of awkwardness and a tuck of her hair behind her ear.

I waited patiently until she remembered her manners and with a small nod towards the inside of the room, she finally understood my meaning and let me in.

She closed the door behind her, "So, uh, Jess, what brings you here?"

"Nothing," I replied, peeking into her and Paris's room.  "You're all alone here?"

She shifted around as she answered me, "Um, yeah.  My roommates all have class and Paris is… actually, I have absolutely no idea where Paris is.  She's probably getting ready for her boyfriend.  He's coming to visit this afternoon."

My lip twitched.  She was probably out buying a gun or something to "get ready for her boyfriend."  If, in twenty years, or even three weeks, Paris suddenly gets arrested, I'd say I wouldn't be that surprised.

"I heard you've caught yourself one, as well."  God dammit.  I couldn't keep the jealousy out of my voice enough to make it a casual question.  At all.

"Why would you care?"  It didn't sound defensive in the least.  It was delivered in a teasing tone with a small smile at me.

Of course Rory had caught on and now she was probably having a mental field day at the knowledge that I cared.

Crap.  I was cornered.  It was just like that stupid Yale conversation.  But only this time I had no right to care whether she had a boyfriend or not because of the simple fact that even if she did, it wasn't going to be me.

"I don't."  I inwardly picked up their sofa and dropped it on my head.  Nice save, Loverboy.  If it was possible, I'd have strangled myself right in front of her.

She fixed me with a knowing smile and chuckled at me.  

Great.  Now she's got me under her thumb.  This meeting was just _so magical._

"You, uh," I looked at her, "I better leave you to study or something.  I'll come back next time."

I started towards the door when I felt her grab my hand.  I stared at our interlinked hands and fought the wave of somethingorother from overcoming me.  She probably felt the same somethingorother because she quickly let go of my hand.  (My, I was awfully articulate today, wasn't I?)  She hugged herself instead, "No, no, stay with me."

**Rory**

He simply looked at me when I uttered my request.  I could feel his hand still.  A glance at his suggested I wasn't the only one.  He was clenching and unclenching his fist absently at his side.

Slowly, he stepped forward and closer to me.  His face hovered over mine and I knew he was going to do something fantastic.

Something so fantastic I'd be smiling all month about it.

But the fantastic experience never came because his lips never touched mine.  Instead, I felt his breath as he said in a low whisper, "I always trusted you.  I want you to know that."

Tears welled up when I realized the meaning of what he'd said.

I wanted to kiss him so badly it hurt.  Just as I was about to lean into him, he pulled away, the tiniest hint of gentleness in his stoic features.  

I'd missed my chance.

He turned again and reached for the doorknob.

"Jess!"  I admit, I was getting rather tired of calling after this boy.  Really.  I opened my mouth to speak, but Paris suddenly burst through the door, knocking Jess in the face with it.

"Is he here?" she asked frantically, looking around the room.  "Is Jaime here?"

I scrunched my face and ran to Jess, who was standing in a daze behind the door, "No, he's not here yet!  I thought he was going to call you!"

I took Jess's arm and sat him on the couch.  He looked at me with a blank expression as I touched his forehead lightly and flinched at the pressure.

It took Paris a while to realize that she had just hit somebody with a slab of oak, but when it did, she rushed to the fridge to get some ice, talking the whole time.

"I wouldn't have hit you if you hadn't been so Patrick Suwayze to Demi Moore over here, dammit!"

Soon, Jess had regained his senses and the stars and cuckoo birds had faded away from his field of view, clutching the bag of ice to his face.

"I'm sorry, Paris, I'll never be an innocent bystander ever again," he said with enough sarcasm to make me smile.  Only Paris could knock a person unconscious and still be the one apologised to.


	9. Jesus Christ Almighty

**Chapter Nine**

**Rory**

As the five of us sat in the living room, me, Paris, Jess, Jaime, and a two ton elephant in the shape of Awkwardness, for about fifteen minutes, I started to grow tired of the silence and decided to throw the damned elephant out by starting some sort of conversation that will last longer than, "Good trip?"  "Yeah."

"So, Jaime."

He looked up, almost relieved to find out that we all hadn't suddenly gone mute and deaf within the last few minutes, "Yeah."

"Um, have you met Jess?"

Jess looked at me with a questioning expression and then proceeded to turn to Jaime.  Jaime then offered his hand for a shake, which Jess reluctantly accepted.  Lord, why this boy was so against meeting people is beyond me.

"No, I haven't."

He gave him a tart smile, "Well, now you have."

I threw a glare at his rudeness.  He returned with a pompous smirk.  Suddenly the reason things were so weird occurred to me.  Paris was quiet as a soap dish next to me.  Paris was supposed to entertain Jaime, not me, not Jess.

"Paris?"

"What?" she snapped.  I instantly drew back at her snippiness.  What was wrong with this picture?

She suddenly let out a sigh, mixed with a sort of glare at Jaime and stood, almost knocking me over.  

"I have to get out of here," she simply said, and headed for the door.  I turned in my seat and Jaime half-stood in his.  "Paris!" we both yelled.  But it was useless as the door had already slammed in our faces.

Jess suddenly got up, "I think I know what's going on."

What?  How could _he_ know what was going on?!  _I don't know what's going on, and from the looks of Jaime over here, he doesn't have the slightest idea, either._

And why in the world is Jess even _here_?!

Before I could ask him, the door slammed shut for a second time.  Jaime and I looked at each other, confused to our cores about the situation.

Without another second's delay, we leapt to our feet and followed them out the door.

Opening it seemed to be the first mistake, as once the division was lifted from our view; we saw the scariest thing alive.

Paris and Jess were outside the hall, kissing.

I pulled a limp finger out and managed to utter a, "Meugh…" and made a second mistake.

The hallway whizzed around and around as the floor rushed up to greet me.

***

There are some things that are utterly inexplicable, like Physics and the meaning of life, or how I enjoyed _Rockstar_ even with Jennifer Aniston in it.  But Jess kissing Paris was in another category altogether.  

I wasn't saying that it was impossible, because that would be incredibly mean of me, but that happening right after Jess almost… 

Well, he didn't exactly want to kiss _me_, _perse_, as I'm painfully aware that he was the one who pulled away just as I was about to…

A hand suddenly grabbed me on the shoulder and I flipped.  I screamed bloody murder, clutching my heart.

"Woah, woah!" Joe exclaimed over my blood-curdling shriek, his hands in front of him in defense.  "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Where the hell am I?" I lunged awake, looking around.  When I realized that I was in my room, I instantly relaxed.  Then I realized that Joe was in it.  And we were alone.

"What are you doing here?"

He sat on the edge of my bed, looking at his hands.  I inched away from him, pulling my covers over myself.

"I came to see you and your room mate said you passed out, so I ventured inside your abode and crossed the threshold.  I mean, crossed the threshold and ventured inside your abode," he gave a small laugh, "Obviously, English has not been one of the majors I've taken."

I pursed my lips at him, "Well, maybe you can try next year."

He gave me a nod which suggested that he'd certainly entertain the idea and rubbed his chin.

I squinted an eye at him, "Grandma said she never told you to do anything to me."

Hm.  That sounded at tad dirty.  And from the looks of it, Joe thought so as well.  A smirk danced in front if his features and I kicked him off the bed at the perverse path this whole thing was swerving to.  Eugh.

"Gah!" he cried out as he landed with a thump.  "Okay, okay, I lied!  Jesus!"

"Why would you do that?"

He swung his arm over the edge of my bed once again and haggardly pulled himself up.  "I need something from you."

Oh, God, he "needed" "something" from me.  I clutched the covers tighter around myself and opened my mouth to give way to another wail.

But I was suddenly hit with a balled-up shirt in the face.  "Hey!"

"Shut up and let me explain, dammit!"

"Do you even know Sherry?!"

"No, not personally."

"Tristan?!"

"Jesus Christ, will you calm down?!" he yelled at my hysteria.  He boosted himself up in the bed and crawled closer.  I kicked him once again and he rolled off and onto the floor.

"I need a favour and I didn't think you'd help me if you didn't trust me right away!"

"Well, mentioning Sherry certainly isn't the way to go!"

"But you trusted me, right?!"

This time I wanted to kick myself because I knew what he said was true.  I did trust him once he mentioned all the people I knew.  I frowned at him, "What do you want from me?"

"I need you to act like my girlfriend for a while."

My eyes widened and I let out an amused, "_Hah!_"  Joe, however, took it as some kind of offense and crossed his arms over his chest.

Oh, he was serious.  Good Lord.

**Jess**

I opened the door and was once again greeted by Paris Freaking Gellar.  I groaned and once again cleared the way for her to enter.  Once again.  If she was ten years older, I'd totally feel like Benjamin Braddock.

"I, uh, I wanted to thank you for doing that thing earlier for me.  It was very nice of you."

I frowned, "Paris, you paid me to do that."

"That's right, and I want to pay you back again by inviting you to dinner with me tomorrow night."

The invitation itself seemed odd because really, why pay for something with dinner if you've already paid the initial cost?

"Jaime's going to be there, isn't he?"

Paris cleared her throat and gave me what seemed like… her face was scrunched up in a very weird manner and her nose was in a funny shape, along with her unnaturally twisted mouth and…

"Are you trying to look innocent?"

Her face quickly relaxed and gave way to a roll of her eyes and a frustrated growl, "I could never pull that off."

I sat there in silent amusement at the lengths this girl was going for just to slap her boyfriend in the face.  It made me wonder how much dysfunctional love she possessed for Jaime and why she was doing this at all.  Paris was now looking at me expectantly, her hands once again on the dangerous paper crane project which belonged to my non-existent room mate (which had seemingly grown and multiplied over the past week).

"What did Jaime ever do to you anyway?"

The question seemed to be some sort of green light for Paris as she sat down and spoke.  "Nothing particularly serious.  He called one night to tell me he missed me."

"The nerve."

It seemed that my retort remained unappreciated.  "Then we got talking a bit more and we started talking about… us."

I walked over to the kitchen, which was facing the sofa she was sitting on and nodded for her to continue.  "Still don't see the importance of you paying me to kiss you--,"

"He proposed to me, okay?"

Jesus Christ Almighty.


	10. I’m Paris Goddamn Gellar, For God’s Sake...

**Chapter Ten**

**Jess **

I was in the midst of opening the fridge as the news reached me. God, Paris was just like one hit after the other:

"Go out with me."

"Kiss me and I'll pay you."

"He proposed."

"I'm actually a creature not so distantly related to George Lucas's _ E.T._ and I'm here to eat your heart out."

Admittedly, the weight of her situation and what she had just said was rather a shock, but it wasn't in my character to react openly at something so huge. I wasn't Lorelai Gilmore, for God's sake. Instead, I took out two Coronas and ambled over to the seat adjacent to Paris.

"This has got to be one of the stupidest ideas I've heard of, Paris. And considering I've actually lived in Stars Hollow, this thing is pretty high up my list," I said as I handed her one of the beers.

Paris rubbed her face with her hands in frustration, "Look, Captain, I don't want to particularly know what you think right now because honestly, I hate this idea as much as the next person. Only it's getting harder to control and—Goddammit, Mariano, this is all your fault!"

I snorted, "Huh, excuse me?" I asked incredulously.

She pointed her index finger at me maniacally, "You should have stopped me! You know as well as I do that when it comes to boys, I suck!" She panted and focused her wide eyes at me, and to be frank, it was creeping me out. 

"I'm not your keeper!"

"Well you should be!"

"You can't be serious."

"You know perfectly well I am. I'm Paris Goddamn Gellar, for God's sake!"

She crossed her arms in front of her and gave me a death glare. Now she's mad at me for something that was entirely her fault to begin with. This was absolutely ridiculous. Suddenly Paris switched modes and calmly spoke to me, "Okay, I can get out of this jam. I can. I can!"

I shifted heavy lids to her general direction, "Keep saying that, and we can sell you off as the next Tim Robbins."

***

The restaurant was a spacious and swanky with just a touch of barbaric arrogance. It was the kind of place Brad and Jennifer would go to eat a bite of a whole suckling pig and leave. Calculating the cost of a single glass of tap water, I turned to Paris, "I just want to restate that you, Paris, are going to pay for my dinner."

She looked like she wanted to kill me with the butter knife beside her. "Get me through and out of this, and I'll--," but she was stopped as the server came up to take our orders.

"Order cheap," she said simply, with another one of those death glares.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes and nodded at the server, "You heard the lady. You guys got burgers in here?"

The man merely looked at me and raised a curlicue moustache.

"Hotdogs? Fish and chips?"

Before I could ask for popcorn, I received a swift kick to the shin. "Gah. That's gonna leave a mark."

"It better," she said gravely at me, and to the server, "We'll just have some shrimp appetizers first, thank you."

The server smiled at Paris, "Very good, ma'am," he said, and then tossed me a pretentious growl.

"Nachos?" I called after him. The table quickly shifted for a second as her pointy heel-y things dug into my foot.

***

"So, I thought Jaime was coming," I asked simply as I took a bite of my cheap pasta. "Speaking of the devil…" I nodded to the front door, where the dude was shrugging his coat off. He oozed Princeton Ivy League. Yech. Paris turned, and I could have sworn she was blushing. I squinted an eye at her and put my fork down, "Do you _want_ to marry him?"

She looked up at me like I was about to run her over with a steamroller.

I sighed, "Great. This is just… the bomb!"

"Shut up, he's coming, dammit!" she whispered hoarsely and then gave out the most God-awful, hair raising haughty laugh, "Oh, Jess!" And then she swatted my arm. God, what a weirdo.

I looked at Jaime from the corner of my eye and true to my hunch; he looked like he was about to throw a dinner table at me.

Once he was within earshot, I returned her scary laugh with my own rendition of a pompous laugh, "I knew you'd like that."

Jaime suddenly came up behind Paris and put a gentle hand on the small of her back, leaning down, "Hello, Paris."

The girl looked like she was about to pass out. "Jaime," she offered with cold civility.

"Jess," he said, with practically the same enthusiasm.

"Hey, man," I said with ease.

Just like that, his attention was nowhere near my radar. He turned and softly said to my date, "Paris, may I talk to you for a second?"

Paris herself looked like she was about to implode. She was frozen to the spot, not talking to Jaime or me. I leaned over and waved a hand in front of her face, "Paris?"

"I do want to marry you."

This wasn't part of the plan… again, with me now, 'Noooot part of the plaaaaaaaaan.'

**Rory **

The restaurant was a spacious and swanky little thing with just a touch of barbaric arrogance. It was the kind of place Michael Jackson would go to eat a bite of a whole thirteen-pound turkey and leave. I was about to comment on the place when Joe spoke and broke my train of thought.

"So, we're going to act all buddy-buddy at first, and then I'll propose and you blow up at me. Okay?"

I looked up at him with an expression of small hope, "Can I throw my drink at you?"

He pondered that for a moment, "If the time calls for it, maybe. But not wine, okay? That's a bitch to get out."

I nodded at him, somewhat excited for my performance. It seems that he told his parents that he had found the perfect girl for him, one that actually had a relative in the DAR, just to get them off his back, but they suddenly came over for a visit, and Joe finalized that he was doomed. Until he saw me.

God, it was like a crappy sitcom. I half expected Raymond to pop by in a stripper costume and tassels.

But I didn't care. This was one of the first fun Yale things I've done, and nobody was going to take that away from me. I was going to act like a bitch with someone's approval and with actual reason. Half my purpose in this life was suddenly complete. Now, if could punch someone real hard and knock him out, I could very well die happy.

But of course _he_ had to ruin things.

As Joe led me to his parents' table, of course, he and Paris were sitting right behind us. This was fabulous. This was amazing. This was GREAT.

Oh, and look at that, _Jaime's_ here, too. I inwardly made a lasso up and around my head in deadpan excitement. Yippee.

Maybe the guy I knock out could be Jess and then I can already die right after. 


	11. I Suggest You Do Something Wild

**Chapter Eleven**

**Rory **

I tried my very hardest to keep from lunging at Jess as we passed by him. Joe gave me an odd glance as he pulled the seat out for me and mouthed, "What's up?"

I gave him a haphazard shake of my head as both a reply to his question and probably an attempt to clear my psychotic head at the moment. He shrugged and I sat down.

My view was just peachy. Sitting across Joe's mom, I could clearly see the side of his head through her and Mr. Bancroft's shoulders. He shifted for a moment and then looked straight at me. I kind of lost myself for a moment there, with the way he was staring at me.

I almost smiled at him, but then I remembered we were here with different people, and though mine was a phony date, his was not.

I shot him a death glare and if the Bancrofts weren't here I was sure I would have growled at him.

"So, Rory," Mrs. Bancroft started, breaking my staring contest with Jess immediately, "would you happen to be related to Richard and Emily Gilmore?"

I nodded politely, "They're my grandparents."

A small streak of enlightenment passed through her face, "That would make you little Lorelai's…" she drifted off, realizing the rudeness of her comment and gave me an apologetic smile.

"Do you interact with them often?" I asked.

Mr. Bancroft took this one, "Oh, a few meetings here and there, coffee, boorish talk. Although we haven't been seeing much of your mother since she was, I think, fifteen or sixteen."

The conversation kept its dead-slow pace well into the main course. I couldn't help but feel bad for my mom as both Joe's parents kept sliding veiled insults into the conversation once in a while. I glanced at Joe, seemingly bored by it all. However a small trace of a furrow in his brow told me that he didn't appreciate the mini-attack they were doing to my mother.

Without thinking, I put my hand on his and squeezed my message: Thank you for caring.

He shifted his eyes at me and offered a smirk. I quickly let go as another picture of Jess smirking entered my head. Sprinklers. Water everywhere. That stupid neighbor with the scary house and scary wife. The board games. I could hear the Bancrofts talking in the background, but ignored them. Dean's Unabomber tendencies, I had mentioned. Jess saving me. And then saving me again by turning the water back on.

"Rory?" I heard Joe call, awakening me from my reverie. "Did you hear me?"

And in a flash I knew I had made the biggest mistake of zonking out at the worst opportune time. Joe was looking at me intently, holding up a diamond ring. I glanced around the room, and almost half the people in there were staring at me.

Including Jess.

He had asked me already, and I was thinking about Jess Stupid Mariano.

"YES, I WILL MARRY YOU!"

All the attention suddenly flicked from my side of the room to Jess's. Right in front of Jess were Paris and Jaime kissing, blatantly ignoring him. He looked uncomfortable for a moment, with all eyes awkwardly gawking at him, waiting for his reaction as his apparent date had just gotten engaged to another man, right in his face. He watched in discomfort as Jaime led Paris out the door. But as soon as they were out of sight, I could have sworn he rolled his eyes.

I felt Joe nudge me, "I'm not expecting that kind of enthusiasm from you, Rory, but…" And he offered me the ring again.

The Bancrofts had long forgotten about Jess and were now looking at me with something close to hope.

"I can't…" I suddenly forgot what I was supposed to do. I looked at Joe, panicked at the fact that I was letting him down. I had already missed him asking me the question, and now my mind was at a blank.

Joe, seeing my trouble, decided to take things into his own hands. "It's him, isn't it?"

I looked at him questioningly, "What are you talking about?"

"Your ex. You're still not over him," he said, quite loudly. The room was once again focused on me. Including Jess. What the hell are you doing, Joe!?

"I am totally over Jess!" I cried.

"Then why do you keep looking at him? You've been stealing glances at him for the whole duration of the meal, for God's sake!" The way he yelled that reminded me of the way Dean yelled at me the night that we broke up. We had an audience there, too. This seemed to become a pattern with boyfriends, Jess and me. Hm.

"There you go again, daydreaming about him!" Joe pointed an accusing finger at Jess, who was silently watching us from the other table.

There was a collective gasp from our audience, "You're ex-boyfriend is _ here_?!"

"Yeah, I am," Jess suddenly swept in, standing, "I'm the guy who just got jilted by his girlfriend a few minutes ago? And now apparently, still the love of Rory Gilmore's life. Hi, I'm Jess."

"Sit down!" I commanded, half yelling at him.

The confident and happy smirk on his face disappeared, and was replaced by hurt. Or anger. I wasn't quite sure. However he shoved his hands in his pockets, gave me a curt nod, and calmly walked out the door.

"Rory?" Joe once again called my name. I looked at him as he pushed his chair back for me to stand. "I suggest you do something wild." 

He helped me stand up and led me to the side of the table, which had a clear pass through straight to the door. With a chivalrous gesture, he spread his arm out in front of him and bowed. I smiled. And with one simple word from him, "Go," I was moving.

And God help me, I was actually chasing Jess. I looked back mid-run, "I'm sorry, Joe!" I tossed with a wobbly voice.

He gave me a small smile and a salute, "You owe me!"

"Jordan!" I heard his mother chide. But that was all I heard because I was already out the door by the time Mrs. Bancroft's chastising had begun.

**Jess **

I put my hand to my face, not knowing what to do. I had to get out of here. It was sheer stupidity that brought me here, with the hope of Rory Gilmore still actually being in love with me.

I headed to my apartment. My rent's about to be up, anyway.

***

When I got there, Ma-Huen still hadn't come home. Perfect. I'd just needed a Post-It and I was out the door. 

In the middle of packing (really, I shouldn't have unpacked in the first place, but of course Rory would make me think otherwise), I heard the door open.

"I'm leaving, Ma-Huen. The rent for the month's all covered."

"Why did you come in the first place?"

I froze in the act of folding my boxers. I recovered, though, and just started stuffing everything in my bag, anything to get the packing done faster so I could get out of here.

"Jess," Rory pleaded, "why do you keep doing this?"

I turned quickly, almost losing my balance, but gladly, I didn't (or my whole delivery would have been thrown off). I looked at her for a moment, "If it wasn't obvious, I'd seriously doubt your capabilities as a Yalie, Rory."

"So you did come for me."

"I always loved you for being astute."

The word came upon me without the slightest effort, an act that would, I'm sure, be the cause of my ultimate demise.

"You loved me?"

I turned and was about to head out the door, but she stopped me by splaying each hand over each of my shoulders. I suddenly remembered the time she did exactly that. I think it was the first time she touched me voluntarily—I was at her house, eating (the first time I was also introduced to Paris's loudness and identity), and Dean the Bean had called, saying he was coming over with cute little packs of ice cream.

I stared at her hands, which were gripping me with little force, but it was enough to stop me from walking out the door. I looked up at Rory. She looked hopeful yet somewhat afraid.

"Do you still?" I gently threw at her.

She looked at me for a moment, and then let go. I pursed my lips; taking in what he actions meant, hitched my bag up my shoulder again and started walking.

Suddenly my bag was ripped off my back, nearly toppling me backwards with its weight. "What the hell?!"

But the answer didn't come in words. It came in the most intimate embrace I've ever been welcomed to. The word came after, in a slight whisper strong enough to have killed me, "Yes." 


	12. I Don't Want Anything

**Chapter Twelve**

****

**Jess**

I wanted to fall into a slouch in her arms. I shook my head in hopelessness, not knowing what to do. I suddenly regretted opening this stupid can of worms. I turned and wrapped my arms around her, kissing her head, as I had used to do when we were together.

Her voice came as a muffle, "What now?"

I shut my eyes tight; knowing how much what I was about to say was going to hurt the both of us. I let her go and put my hands to my face because I didn't want to see her reaction, "Now, nothing."

However, I still heard it in her voice, "What do you mean?" The question was wobbly, just like my stance when I dared to look up at her.

"Think about this logically, Rory."

"But you're not logical. _I'm_ supposed to worry about everything else."

"Then you must be rubbing off on me." I looked at her and smiled a bit. Then I realized my position, and took another step back. I couldn't stand too close to her, especially with the way the both of us were feeling.

And despite everything, I started to speak, "What do you think is going to happen to us, Rory? You'll be in Yale, and what will I do? Mooch off Ma-Huen until he kicks me out? I can't stay here. I have nothing to offer you, Rory."

"I don't want anything from you!" she cried suddenly, making me jump. Tears started to gather in her eyes, and I suddenly hated myself ten times worse. "I don't want… anything. I just want you."

I lowered my eyes at that, and for the first time in a very long while, I felt that small feeling in my chest flare up. I wanted to lash out, angry with myself for not handling things better. And what was worse, Rory blamed herself for my failure.

Now she stood before me, her composure crumbling by the second. My throat closed in on itself as I uttered the words, "But you need everything. You deserve… everything. Do you understand the difference, Rory?"

The words hit her right then. Rory took a step back, widening the space between us even more, and hugged herself. All the while she was looking at me, her eyes glazed with tears. 

After a moment of staring at each other, daring one another to speak, Rory slowly nodded and said in the softest voice, "Fine."

That was it. Total and complete surrender in its most naked form.

"I'm sorry," I offered hoarsely.

She returned my apology with a brave smile and a shrug, "Hey, at least I tried, right?"

This time it was my turn to nod, "I'm glad you did." I then bent down and grabbed my bag, slinging it once again over my shoulder. I took another step towards the door, when I heard Rory clear her throat.

"Um…"

I slowly turned, raising my eyebrows in question.

"What if I wait for you?" Her voice sounded so hopeful, so small, that I just had to let out a chuckle.

"Can you wait that long?"

She squirmed slightly at the thought, "How long are we talking about?"

"Nobody knows, least of all me."

"Oh," she conceded, looking down at her feet. When she looked back up at me, she had that wobbly smile on her face once again, "Worth a shot, right?"

Oddly enough, when Rory said that, I suddenly didn't care. Every logical thought ran away from me, leaving me with nothing but my unmasked feelings for the girl who stood before me. It was clear, so very blinding, and a huge pump of impulse took over.

Without a word, I threw my bag to the floor and ran to her, taking less than two seconds to reach her. Rory backed up a bit in surprise, but as soon as my hands touched her face, she stood perfectly still. A small moment's hesitation came upon me, but then Rory licked her lips, and we both knew that this regretful thing was going to be so worth it.

I pressed my lips against hers, savouring everything about her.

I kissed her like I've never kissed anyone before. This was nothing compared to the million others we've shared, because this wasn't just a kiss. It was surrender, a concession, a display of every fiber of my being to Rory Gilmore.

It was a goodbye to Rory Gilmore.

"Jess," she whispered, her voice touching my cheeks.

But before she could say anything else, before I could muster a hiccup of a cry, I tore myself away from her and ran to the door, my bag trailing behind me.

I just hoped that she would wait for me.

**Rory**

I stood in the middle of his empty room, in a daze. I touched my lips; they were wet from tears. I touched my eyelids; there were none trailing to my mouth.

Jess always had a problem with crying.

I looked around the space, nothing reminding me of Jess, but the scent of him.

In a corner, a modest bed lay, haphazardly made. The bookshelf was empty, as was the desktop, except for an envelope marked, "Ma-Huen."

I sat on the bed wordlessly and cried. That was it. The end of Rory and Jess.

The next day happened upon me without much of recognition. Paris was off with Jaime, and I was doing my best to ignore Tanna, who had somehow turned into a gab machine in the last two hours, as we both sat in the common area, watching C-Span.

Suddenly, I got up and walked into my room (to Tanna's surprise). I charged towards my phone and dialed the number to my mother.

"Hey, babe. What's new?" She sounded so nonchalant, so chipper. I loved my mother.

"Hi, Mom. Nothing much; I just missed you."

"So did you finally figure out that Jordan Bancroft kid?"

I smiled at the thought of Joe, "Yeah."

I didn't know how else to get through such a heavy night as last night, but all I knew was that hearing my mother's voice always made me forget the horrors of my life. I wasn't sure if I'd ever get through this break up, but at least there was closure this time around.

Maybe I'll just wait a while. Because for once, Jess catered to my logical side, instead of my impulsive one.

**END.**


End file.
